


Honor Among Thieves

by himbolover



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, No Beta, OR IS HE, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn, There will be baking, bad boy ashe, spoiler he is soft as hell, there will be heists, there will be naps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himbolover/pseuds/himbolover
Summary: What if Ashe had never gone to Garreg Mach and had instead continued living his life as a thief?. . .In a Fhirdiad still recovering from the devastation of war, a lowly thief and the highest knight in the kingdom must work together to foil a dastardly plot and make peace last. Nothing is quite as it seems, including our two unlikely heroes.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 24
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

Ashe was a man on a mission. He strode through the forest purposefully, focused and alert. He was hunting, and his eyes were peeled for any sign of his elusive prey. As he emerged from the narrow footpath he traversed into a shadowy glade, he grinned triumphantly.

_At last! _At the sight of his quarry his adrenaline spiked, and he pounced without hesitation.

“Gotcha!” he exclaimed, gleefully extracting the largest in a patch of squat brown mushrooms from the cool, damp earth at the base of a large tree. Still smiling, he picked the rest of the mushrooms before sitting back on his haunches to peer around the small clearing for more. Unfortunately, no other mushrooms could be spotted but Ashe’s disappointment was somewhat alleviated as he appreciated the beauty of the spot he had stumbled upon. While lush foliage bordered the glade and it was for the most part covered in the same speckled shade as the rest of the dense forest, a small patch of sun in the center of the clearing warmed a number of large boulders and glinted off of the shallow stream running next to them.

It appeared to Ashe to be the perfect place for a nap. While Ashe wasn’t often one for napping, he had woken extra early that morning to set out on his hunt. Mushrooms were hard to spot in the shadowy woods, and he was tired from maintaining his focus for so long. He glanced at the basket he had brought with him and, seeing that it was now nearly full, he determined he was entitled to a bit of rest before heading back to the city. He covered the basket with a cloth, unslung the quiver from his back and carefully placed his bow next to it. While wild game was rare this close to the forest’s edge, Ashe always brought his bow with him on the off chance he got lucky. With that, he lay back on the flattest of the rocks, closed his eyes, and within moments was lulled to sleep by the warmth of the morning sun and the soothing sound of the wind moving through the trees.

* * *

Waking with a start, Ashe rolled from the rock, snatching his quiver and bow and nocking an arrow as he moved quickly into the cover provided by the greenery surrounding the glade. Panting softly, Ashe peered around wide-eyed and listened intently for signs of danger. His reaction was one of instinct, and as he crouched in the darkness he attempted to ascertain if it was warranted or merely triggered by the sounds of the forest. For a few moments there was nothing but silence, and Ashe immediately knew that something unusual had indeed disturbed his sleep, as silence in the forest was anything but natural. No birds chirped, no creatures stirred in the undergrowth and then – the unmistakable sound of steel upon steel in the distance. A fight then. Ashe sprang to his feet and bounded silently through the woods to investigate.

As the sounds of battle drew near, Ashe scaled a tree in order to survey the action. After finding a branch sturdy enough to perch on, Ashe looked down at the scene below and was surprised to see flashes of the royal guard’s bright blue flashing between the somber greys and greens of the opposing force. Ashe had assumed that he would encounter either a squabble between bandits (in which case he would have left them to it) or an attack on one of the many merchants who often passed through Kyphon Forest, sprawling between Fhirdiad and Fraldarius territory (in which case he would have intervened). Seeing the royal guard here was a surprise. There had been several raids recently on villages around the city’s outskirts, which were outside city’s walls but were still technically part of its jurisdiction. Ashe supposed they may have been sent to quash or at least deter further attacks.

Unsurprisingly, the elite royal force seemed to be having no issues handling what was a rather small troupe of bandits. Ashe noted that attempts were being made to disarm and detain, rather than harm, the thieves, and that most of them had already been captured. As Ashe watched the few remaining rebels cast down their weapons he prepared to climb back down the tree. His help here was clearly not required, and all things considered he would like very much to avoid attracting the attention of the authorities himself. As he moved to a lower branch a flash of light caught his eye. From his new vantage point he could see the guards rounding up the last of the bandits, herding those who could walk into a wagon while a healer tended to the few who had been injured. He could also see what the guards couldn’t – behind a rocky outcropping a second wave of bandits was lying in wait, weapons ready and glinting in the sun, prepared to strike once the guards’ defenses were lowered. A dark mage looked to be their leader, crouching atop the ledge and holding one hand out behind him, signaling them to hold their position.

Groaning in resignation, Ashe scrambled back to his original post and nocked an arrow. The mage was staring intently at the commander of the guards, who had just removed his helm. With a start, Ashe recognized the distinct white hair and gleaming armour known to all citizens of Fhirdiad. It was the king’s right hand, Dedue Molinaro. The mage lifted his arms towards Dedue, and Ashe saw the beginnings of a dark spell form in the air while the true force of the bandits prepared to strike. While Ashe was no tactician, he knew that the knights would likely be overrun if taken unawares, and that Dedue’s shining armor would do little to protect him against dark magic. Resolved, he sighed as he took aim and let his arrow fly.

Though Ashe may not have been a tactician, he was an excellent marksman, and his arrow struck true. The mage’s spell dispersed, and with a strangled cry he tumbled forward over the rocks, landing dead before the guards. There was a beat of silence, as both guards and bandits paused in shock. The moment of peace was short-lived however, as the well-trained royal soldiers quickly readied themselves for attack. The bandits, while clearly unsettled by losing the element of surprise, managed to rally and rushed the guards in force. Ashe let a few more arrows fly, this time aiming to disarm rather than kill. Within moments, the second wave of attackers crumbled under the coordinated and efficient defense of the guards. As the soldiers pressed forward to detain the last of the outlaws, Ashe hastened to retreat. While he believed he was still well hidden in his position, he had seen the tall commander glance in his direction as the fighting settled and he was determined to avoid entanglements with any sort of law enforcement on principle, even if he had been good enough to help them out today.

* * *

Dedue surveyed the scene before him. Half a dozen or so of the bandits had been killed in the skirmish, including the dark mage. Many more were currently being loaded into wagons headed for the dungeons of Fhirdiad by his men. Dedue frowned. While the number of raids along Fhirdiad’s outskirts had increased in recent months, there had been no indication that anything other than typical bandit activity was afoot. The kingdom was prospering, and the pockets of both nobles and commoners were full as trade across Fódlan was open in ways it had never been before the war with the empire. Some enterprising individuals had evidently seen this prosperity as an invitation, and it was assumed that the raids were no more than common thieves looking to claim their dubious share of success. Dedue turned over the body of the mage, which lay twisted at an awkward angle thanks to its tumble from the rocks above. This ambush had been something else, something more than the usual careless assault of highway robbers. The attack had been well planned, organized, and strangest of all, pre-meditated. Looking back, Dedue was sure that the first wave of bandits had surrendered easily in order to lull his battalion into a false sense of security so that the second wave could overtake them with the ambush.

_They may well have succeeded too, if not for… _

Dedue knelt next to the body of the mage and inspected the arrow protruding from his right eye. A remarkable shot. The wooden arrow was plain enough, but it’s fletching was distinct and rather unusual – two grey feathers, and one blue. He glanced over his shoulder, staring intently into the forest behind him. His men had been unable to find any trace of the mysterious archer who had aided them. Dedue himself had tried to spot them as the battle drew to a close but he had seen nothing except a distant flash of silver and blue, retreating through the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I read so many terrible thief jokes trying to come up with a title for this. Example:
> 
> Bakers are the most desperate thieves.  
.  
.  
.  
They really knead the dough.
> 
> =_=


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baby's first heist

Ashe entered the inn through the back door leading to the kitchen and was immediately assailed by the scent of baking bread. He closed his eyes, inhaling contentedly, before sneaking up behind his sister who had failed to notice his entrance. He waited for her to pause in her work before covering her eyes and shouting,

“Guess who!”

“Ashe, I am holding a knife. A very long and sharp knife, so if you value your life you will kindly remove your hands before I do so for you.”

Ashe chuckled and did as he was told. As she turned towards him, putting the knife down, he pecked her on the forehead and grinned down at her. She glared at him sternly for a moment before rolling her eyes and smiling up at him, wiping her hands on the apron she wore. Emily was one of the few people that Ashe _could_ grin down at. Growing up, they had always been close to the same height but that had changed when Ashe went through a surprising growth spurt in his late teens. While he was now about average height by Faerghus standards at 5’7, his sister had stopped keeping up and was fully grown at a towering 5’1. Despite this, their family resemblance in other respects was clear. Emily had the same light green eyes, pale skin, button nose and generous smattering of freckles as Ashe. Her hair was smooth and long, and invariably braided to keep it out of the way, tending towards more of a mousey brown than Ashe’s pure silver. Emily ran the inn, along with help from the youngest of the three siblings, Adrien.

“So, what have you brought me?” she asked.

“Mushrooms! I told you’ve I’ve been craving steak and mushroom pie since the evenings have started turning cold.”

“And?” she extended a hand expectantly.

Ashe laughed, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and handing it to her. Emily looked over the recipe before nodding. “Lane will be here shortly, I’ll have her prepare a TEST batch for tonight.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Emily smiled, Ashe’s recipes were always a hit.

“You could make them yourself you know,” she added.

“You know I can’t,” Ashe responded, looking away. “Besides, I have another job in mind for tonight. Just let me know how amazing everyone said it was tomorrow, pipsqueak.” he backed away, still grinning though the smile no longer quite reached his eyes. Snagging one of the rolls recently pulled from the oven, Ashe winked at Emily in farewell before bounding up the stairs which led to the private quarters the family shared at the back of the inn.

“Well, you’d better be careful then,” Emily muttered, before resuming her work.

* * *

Looking up at Castle Fhirdiad, shimmering in the warm sun of an autumn afternoon, Ashe was able to forget for a moment that the fortress had been nearly destroyed by war only two years earlier. While the raging of demonic beasts and the awesome power of the imperial mages had decimated the kingdom’s capital, you had to look closely to find lasting signs of the destruction. After the kingdom’s victory, one of King Dimitri’s first orders was to restore the capital city, using not only the funds of the kingdom but also reaching into the newly acquired imperial coffers, ancient and deep as they were. In the aftermath of war, pillaging and thievery were widespread as scavengers and deserters sought to take advantage of the chaos. The king’s objective in repairing the capital was to provide a haven for all citizens of Faerghus displaced by the war while larger restoration efforts were underway across Fódlan. Similar orders were carried out at Arianrhod and Enbarr by his command. As a result, only a few hints remained of the damage that once was; buildings with patches of stone slightly lighter than their neighbours, pit marks in the outer wall of the fortress where ballista bolts had once lodged, and in the distance a few last sections of scaffolding clinging to the castle walls.

As Ashe meandered through the crowded streets making his way towards the scaffolding, he observed that the damage done to the people of Fhirdiad was also fading. He could hear children laughing, interspersed with the entreaties of street vendors pushing their final sales of the day and the idle chatter of common folk meeting friends for afternoon tea at street side shops. While Ashe knew that these people still bore scars, both visible and invisible, the city was finally starting to feel…normal. Safe. These days, people worried about what they would make for dinner and if their courtships were doomed for failure, not whether they would live to see tomorrow’s sunrise. It filled Ashe with contentment and renewed his sense of purpose as he thought of his evening’s mission. But before that, he had a tradition to uphold.

Ashe stepped away from the main thoroughfare, down a narrow lane and paused at the edge of a quiet square at the northern end of the city, where one of the four gates to the palace was located. A bylaw forbade any buildings from abutting the inner fortress, so the space between where he stood and the castle wall was clear. Beyond the wall, there was a wide, open ring around the castle proper which housed an attractive courtyard at the main southern entrance, the royal stables to the east, training grounds to the west, and here at the northern entrance, a seasonal garden. The garden was the last section still overtaken by the scaffolding. The northern north wing of the castle was used mainly by the royal household and their staff and was therefore the last to be repaired, as public spaces took priority by the king’s demand. The king’s benevolence had served Ashe very well.

He glanced at the sun overhead, then towards the guards at the northern gate and atop the outer wall. Another advantage of peace was the relaxed vigilance of the castle’s security. The soldiers guarding the fortress were still exceptionally well-trained and undoubtedly deadly when engaged, but now that war was over, they were no longer expecting an attack at any moment. They were posted for longer periods of time and changed over at regular intervals, rather than the short and ever unpredictable shifts that had been standard during the war. This return to normalcy was a favorable mistake to Ashe. He glanced overhead again, it was nearly six o’clock and right on time Ashe saw the evening shift arriving to relieve their comrades at both the gate and the top of the wall. The gate stood at the far side of the square, and the structure which housed the mechanism to lift it also contained the stairs leading to the parapet above. As the standing guards started to brief their replacements on the happenings of the day shift (which Ashe was fairly certain consisted mainly of idle gossip judging by the extended nature of these exchanges), he darted into the square and towards the wall. He only had a few moments, no matter how interesting the goings-on of Fhirdiad may have been that day.

Ashe always chose the evening changeover for two reasons; the first being that the guards were at their most relaxed – it was still mostly daylight, the guards arriving for duty had just finished their suppers and those being relieved were eagerly looking forward to their own. The second was that as the sun began its downward descent, the surrounding building cast long shadows across the square. Ashe clung to these shadows now and reached the wall within seconds. He would no longer be visible to the guards above from this angle. After quickly ensuring that the lower guards were still engaged, Ashe began his silent scramble up the wall. The ballista divots which scarred the walls made for exceptionally easy climbing, especially for someone as practiced as Ashe. He reached the top of the wall, hoisted himself onto the parapet and within two strides was scaling the opposite side of the wall and landing in the garden below.

Once there, Ashe ducked behind some of the plentiful shrubbery and stood still for a minute, attempting to keep his heavy breaths silent. When no alarm was raised from the wall after a moment’s pause, he laughed quietly to himself.

_Too easy. _

He almost felt bad about it. Scaling the wall was the most difficult part of this “heist” and it hardly felt like a challenge anymore.

_Well, I suppose I should be grateful!_

Shrugging, he moved further into the garden, which was largely overgrown while reconstruction was ongoing, providing plenty of cover. He reached a rough wooden bin which contained some rusty gardening tools and a burlap sack. Ashe carefully removed the quiver tied to his belt and stashed it along with his shortbow in the bin. From the sack he pulled a long, stiff white robe with navy accents. Ashe tugged the robe over his head, tying it up about the waist for the time being. Moving to the back of the garden, he climbed the scaffolding until he reached a boarded-up window about 5 stories high. On a previous visit, he had removed the nails from one of the boards, and was it now merely wedged between its neighbours. Ashe pulled it free and leaned through to set it down inside. Turning, he lifted himself up and through the narrow gap in the boards. Hopping off the window ledge inside, Ashe crouched and paused again. All was quiet. Ashe had entered one of the castle’s many unused rooms. What looked to be a desk, a small table, and a few chairs were covered by white clothes. Ashe understood from some of the household staff who frequented his family’s inn that there were many such rooms throughout the palace, as the number of occupants was constantly shifting. Ashe wondered idly what it would be like to live in a home with so many rooms that you could forget about half of them and still have space to spare. Exhausting probably – he was quite happy being no more than twenty steps away from the kitchen at all times at the inn.

He stood and untied the robe from where it was hitched around his waist, letting it fall to graze the floor. He took a deep breath, assumed an air of quiet surety and, after pressing an ear against it for a moment, opened the door and entered the hall. He moved with purpose, but at a sedate pace. The key was to move quickly enough that you did not appear open to conversation, but not so quickly that it looked like you were running away from something. He turned south, moving deeper into the castle, down a flight of stairs and through a well-lit carpeted corridor before reaching his destination. He moved confidently through the entrance, nodding kindly to the two guards posted in the doorway, and continued straight until he was out of sight between two tall shelves. Only once there did Ashe stop, smiling wide in true delight and inhaling deeply. Though he may be an uninvited guest, he felt at home here. Continuing deeper into the room he gazed around joyfully, for surrounding him were row upon row of high shelves packed with thousands and thousands of books.

The Royal Library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a fucking nerd.
> 
> Will they actually interact in the next chapter!?!?!? Who knoooowsss. in the meantime, here is another precious gift for you...
> 
> To the software thieves who robbed me last night:  
Don't think you can get away with taking my Microsoft Office suite. I will find you. You have my Word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> contact, people, cooonnntaccctttt

Dedue entered the library cautiously. For some reason it always reminded him of the cathedral at Garreg Mach. While the cavernous ceiling and stained-glass windows were partly to blame, Dedue thought that the heavy silence was the true cause of this association. Like the cathedral, you could feel the weight of history in this place. It was as though the thoughts of everyone who had ever entered had been absorbed into the walls, and Dedue always felt like he was being watched by books that lined the shelves as he shuffled among them. He had purposely shed his armour before coming here, as the clamour it caused always seemed amplified in this quiet place, so his usual discomfort was at least somewhat lessened.

He nodded to the head librarian and move silently down the central walkway through the bookshelves towards the reading area beyond. As he passed, he peered down the rows hoping to spot Annette’s telltale red hair. He had obtained a sketch of the mage from the incident in the woods and was hoping she might recognize him from her time at the Royal School of Sorcery, as he looked to be around her age. Even if she didn’t, it was possible she might have some information on unusual magic use in the area which could aid in his investigation.

She was not among the shelves and so he continued into the large reading hall. The front half of the room contained several long tables and benches, while the back portion of the room had a few lower tables around which comfortable looking sofas and armchairs were placed. Dedue could see a few priests sitting at the long tables with thick tomes in front of them but still no red hair. As he moved further in he spotted Linhardt sitting on one of the sofas with a book in his lap – Dedue could see an illustration of a crest on the open page – but his eyes were closed and he was snoring softly. Dedue sighed, unsurprised.

He looked around once more and was about clear his throat to wake the green-haired mage and ask if _he _had seen Annette, when he heard a quiet laugh. Looking towards the sound, he noticed that one of the armchairs at the back of the room was turned towards the windows – someone shorter than himself could certainly sit there without being spotted easily. Hoping that person was Annette, he allowed Lindhart to continue napping, thankful that he wouldn’t have to listen to the complaints that inevitably accompanied disturbing his rest, or asking him questions, or from what Dedue could tell, forcing him to bear the presence of anyone other than Caspar for longer than thirty seconds.

As Dedue rounded the chair, he was disappointed to find that it did not contain Annette. Instead, a young monk occupied the spot. The man sat curled up in the chair with his legs tucked under him, his fair skin and silver hair bathed in the multi-coloured light that streamed through the stained-glass of the window. His pose was unexpectedly relaxed for a cleric – a small smile played on his lips and his long pale eyelashes swept over a smattering of freckles as he gazed completely absorbed at the book in his lap.

Dedue raised an eyebrow as he looked at the cover – _Loog and the Maiden of the Wind_ was not quite what he had expected. Annette had once told him that members of the Church of Seiros often took advantage of the Royal Library’s expansive collection of theology and history research papers, which rivalled that of Garreg Mach, so he was surprised to find this one reading a chivalric romance. He recognized it as one Dimitri was fond of, and the king had once told him it was more fable than fact.

As he puzzled over this, the monk suddenly stiffened. Dedue realized he had been standing over him for several moments without saying anything. The young man slowly raised his head to discover who was looming over him, and soft green eyes met Dedue’s. As he fumbled for something to say, Dedue realized that for some reason he was no longer feeling disappointed.

* * *

_Shit, _was Ashe’s first thought.

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

He had been so absorbed in Loog’s adventures he had not even noticed the huge knight – _THE knight. High Commander of the Royal Guard. Hero of Grondor and Shield of the King, _his mind helpfully supplied – had come to stand in front of him. Ashe felt his eyes widen in shock but quickly schooled his features.

_That’s fine, _Ashe thought. _Any lowly monk would be surprised to have the one of the highest ranked knights in the kingdom approach them. Why in the eternal flame is he approaching me though?!_

Dedue peered at him with a puzzled expression on his face. He blinked slowly and cleared his throat.

“Hello. I am sorry if I have disturbed you,” he said quietly.

Ashe leapt to his feet, bowing quickly.

“Not at all, Sir Dedue. I apologize! – I didn’t hear you approach.” Ashe laughed uncomfortably, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

“No apology is necessary.” Dedue replied.

He stared at Ashe.

Ashe stared back, or rather…up. 

_Holy Seiros, the man seems even taller this close. I didn’t think that was possible._ Ashe craned his neck to take in Dedue’s face for the first time in years. He was more imposing than ever, and Ashe could see that he had earned new scars in the war with the empire. It was strange to seem him without his armour, though the tunic and fitted breeches he wore made it obvious just how much strength was required to stroll about in what must be a hundred pounds of iron day in and day out. His pure white hair and strong square jaw were just as Ashe remembered though. He suddenly realized that the silence was stretching out rather long.

“Um-“

“Have you seen a woman with red hair?” Dedue asked.

“A wom- um, no I haven’t, sorry!” Ashe sighed, relieved to discover that the knight was looking for someone else and was not there to throw Ashe through the library’s lovely windows. Ashe smiled up at Dedue a moment longer, and when he didn’t respond he started, “well, now I think of it, I realize I really must be going. If there is nothing else-”

“Are you enjoying the book?” Dedue asked, softly. He then furrowed his brows slightly, as though surprised he had just spoken.

“I – uh – yes, thank you.” He could not have been more surprised than Ashe. Desperate to leave but not wanting to arouse suspicion by being rude, he continued, “Have you read it?”

“No.” More staring.

“Oh. Well – it’s very good. A bit childish perhaps but I think the simple ideals it presents are what makes it so appealing and why it’s stood the test of time. I’ve read it a few times now and depending on what I’m going through it always seems to teach me a new lesson– um,” Ashe paused, smiling sheepishly. He was rambling. Why was he rambling?

“I see.”

Maybe he was rambling because Dedue apparently didn’t know how conversations worked. He has heard the man was rather stoic but jeez! Ashe was wracking his brain for a reason to make quick departure when Dedue spoke again,

“It is one of Dimitri’s favourites.”

“Dim-? The king!? King Dimitri?” Ashe whispered, excitedly.

Ashe wasn’t sure but he thought Dedue may have smiled at that. There was a slight crinkling around his eyes that was very suspicious.

“Yes, King Dimitri. He said his father would often read it to him as a child.”

“Oh!” it was now Ashe’s turn to be silent, as he was secretly delighted to discover he shared a common interest with the king. While Ashe revelled in this new knowledge Dedue asked,

“You look quite familiar, but I do not believe I have seen you in the castle before. Have we met elsewhere?”

“No!” Ashe nearly shouted, panicked. One of the priests studying at the front of the room glared back over his shoulder. Ashe took a quick breath to recover before directing his most charming smile at Dedue. In a quieter voice he said, “I mean, I’m certain I would remember if I had met you before!”

_There’s no way he would remember that. Regardless – I need to get out of here right now. I need to get out of here five minutes ago if possible._

“It’s an honour to meet you now though! Unfortunately, I really do have somewhere to be and I must be going. Goodbye!”

With that, Ashe turned on his heel to walk away. He had only taken half a step when a huge hand closed over his shoulder. He partially managed to suppress an undignified squeak, but not enough to avoid receiving another glower from the studious priest.

“Wait, please.”

_Oh goddess, I’m dead. Very Dead. The most dead anyone has every been, probably._

He paused, terrified – he couldn’t bring himself to turn and face the knight who loomed behind him. Dedue lifted his hand.

“My apologies. I did not intend to startle you. I only wondered if I might have your name? You already seem to have mine.”

“It’s Christophe. Christophe Gildas.” Ashe lied quickly.

“Christophe. It was nice to meet you. I hope we will have a chance to speak again.”

_Why!? _Ashe thought.

“Mmmhmm!” he responded intelligently, and walked quickly out of the library, though he swore he could feel Dedue’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He didn’t slow until he reached the abandoned room he had entered from. Once there, he leaned back against the door and heaved a huge sigh of relief.

_Thank the Goddess. That was…uncomfortable? _Ashe reached up, his hand hovering for a moment over the place where Dedue had stopped him and where the weight of his touch still seemed to linger.

Not wishing to tempt fate any further, he roused himself and swiftly retraced his steps – out the window, down the scaffolding and to the garden bin. He swapped the holy robe for his bow and quiver, and crept along in the shadows until he reached the stables. There, he resumed a purposeful stride out in the open. Unlike his entry in to the castle grounds, Ashe had no reason to attempt stealth on the way out. He could simply depart among the many merchants and messengers who visited Castle Fhirdiad daily, as there was no inspection on the way out and the gate remained open until sundown. Only after leaving through the main southern gate and ducking down a side street did he finally relax.

_Now – time to really get to work. _

* * *

Settling back into place on a sofa in the library, Linhardt smiled to himself and allowed his eyes to drift shut once more.

_Hmm. How very interesting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen many thieves in my life, but this one takes the cake.


	4. Chapter 4

Dusk was finally settling in upon Fhirdiad as Ashe meandered down the twisting lanes of the neighbourhood just south of the castle. This district was one of the oldest in the city, and over time had also become the most affluent as foreign dignitaries, local nobles, and prominent merchants attempted to assert their status through proximity to the royal house. While the central road leading to the castle had been widened as the city expanded, the remainder of the neighbourhood was largely dominated by narrow, labyrinthine laneways closed in by the high walls bordering the homes of Fhirdiad’s wealthiest residents. Turning down one of these lanes, Ashe found himself just around the corner from his destination.

Like most of its neighbours, the residence was surrounded on all sides by tall stone walls, with a double-wide iron gate at the front entrance. Ashe could see one guard posted just inside the main gate, and he knew that two others would be patrolling the property. Looking above the wall to the house itself, Ashe was pleased to see that all the windows were dim, as expected. In recent weeks, Ashe had taken to frequenting a tavern in a more modest part of town after tailing one of the guards there. Picking up intel had hardly been a challenge. The man was a drinker, and once the alcohol started flowing, Ashe simply had to sit back and wait as the guard spouted complaints about his patron to the bartender, the serving boy, the man who was unfortunate enough to choose the stool next to him, and by the end of the night to the last dregs of his ale. Apparently, the nobleman was meddlesome, constantly asking about the number of patrols, if anyone suspicious had been seen near the property, what sort of weapons training they had, and so on and so forth. Finally, last week, he had heard the guard celebrating – his master was leaving town for a brief trip and “won’t be breathing down my neck for at least a fortnight, thank the goddess.”

Despite the man’s complaints, Ashe knew from previous observations he and the other guards on duty were thorough – but they were also predictable. He had never caught any of them snoozing on the job, but their patrols were like clockwork, and he could guess where they would be at any given time. They also failed to assess any risks outside of their own tiny dominion. While the walls they guarded were well-maintained and kept free encroaching foliage, the same could not be said of the neighboring property, separated from his target by only a narrow alley, it had never been repaired after the war and sat abandoned and overgrown. Vines covered the walls and strangled the ruins of the structure within, snaking through cracked windows and pushing apart the crumbling stonework. It was from here that Ashe would strike.

He took a moment to close his eyes, inhaling deeply. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, alighting his senses in the way it always did before a heist, and Ashe grinned. He peeked once more around the corner before stepping out and crossing the lane in a few short steps, passing into the alley behind the ruined mansion. Overgrown with vines as it was, scaling the wall was a cinch and Ashe was up and over within seconds. The front door was hanging off its hinges, and Ashe slipped through the gap it left and into the house.

Though he had been inside twice before while planning this mission, the quiet sadness that the house stirred in him still dulled his excitement for a moment. In the day's last light, he could just make out the peeling paint on the walls and the jagged edges of broken furniture scattered around the large entryway. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of people had lived here, once upon a time. Anything of value had been removed by looters long ago, but Ashe had stumbled upon a torn canvas in one of the upper rooms on an earlier visit. Its frame had undoubtedly been stolen, but the dusty painting showed a handsome couple and their young son, standing in front of a large family crest of silver and blue and bearing the name “Gaspard”. The name had tugged at something within Ashe’s memory and while he was unable to discover the reason, the feeling of déjà vu plagued him once again as he moved through the house and up the stairs to the second floor. His goal was the roof, but the spiral staircase which had once led to the third floor attic had collapsed, and so Ashe clambered through a broken window, scaling to the roof assisted again by the vines clinging to every inch of the outer walls. Once there, Ashe crouched low to maintain his balance, and crept towards his target, hiding in the shadows of one of the house’s crumbling chimneys.

From his new vantage point, he could see clearly into the yard next door. Two guards had just switched positions at the front gate. The relieved guard moved toward the wall Ashe overlooked and began his slow patrol of the perimeter. Ashe waited patiently for him to pass to the back of the house. He knew that once this occurred he would only have about two minutes to make his way across before the guard on the far side of the house reached the front of the property and Ashe’s line of sight.

He could feel his fingers tingling with excitement as he pulled one of two steel arrows from his quiver. While steel was impractical for ranged attacks, Ashe needed the extra strength for his purposes tonight. He removed a length of rope from a pouch at his waist and tied one end tightly to the arrow’s shaft and the other around the stone chimney. The weight of the arrow and the rope would impede the accuracy of his shot, but luckily his target was only a dozen metres away. Ashe unslung his bow and nocked the arrow. Looking down, he watched as the guard finally moved out of site behind the house. Ashe stood, drew back the arrow and let it fly. With a quiet _thunk_, the arrow struck true, lodging deeply into the wall just above one of the second story windows below.

_Now for the fun part._

Ashe moved to sit with his legs hanging over the edge of the roof. He reached up and tugged hard on the rope. It held. He pulled the second of his steel arrows from his quiver, placing it over the rope and gripping tightly with one hand near the point and the other close to the nock. Taking a deep breath, Ashe dropped from the roof. The arrow slid along the rope, gravity pulling him forward as he careened towards the house. At the last moment Ashe pulled his legs up in front of him and his feet slammed into the wall on either side of the window. Smiling with exhilaration, Ashe lowered his legs to the window sill, and released one hand then the other from the arrow to steady himself against the frame. Once the shaky feeling left his legs, he tucked the arrow back into his quiver and reached up to pull the first shaft from the wall. As well lodged as it was it took a few tries before Ashe was able to free it, and with no time for finesse he simply threw it back over wall so that the guard wouldn’t see the rope overhead on his next pass.

That done, Ashe tested the window to confirm it was locked. It was.

_Well, I suppose that would have been too easy._

Leaning back against the window frame and reaching into his pouch once more, he pulled out a tiny leather tool roll. He unfolded it over his thigh and selected a thin metal file. Here Ashe could see for himself the nobleman’s paranoia, as there were 5 latches where the two window panes met. Smirking, he shook his head.

_How foolish. If you can get past one you can get past five. _

And with that, Ashe slipped the file in through the seam at the base of the window and slid it up, up, up and with a series of tiny _clinks _the latches lifted one by one. Replacing the file, he pulled another thin tool from his kit, this one ending in a right angle. Ashe slid the tool in straight, before twisting it so that the angled side was perpendicular to the seam of the window, allowing him to pull it forward and open. Ashe slipped the tool back into its slot, curled up the roll, tucked it into his pouch and slid inside the house, pulling the window shut behind him. Though there was no way for the guards below to spot him now, the first thing Ashe did was step to the side and out of the dim evening light streaming in through the glass. He then paused, making a conscious effort to slow his breathing, waiting for his eyes to adjust and listening for anything out of the ordinary in the silent house.

_Nothing. Good. _

Ashe knew he had entered through the study and what he was looking for was downstairs, but before leaving the room he reached over to the window and closed the five latches he had unlocked.

_Never give them a reason to come looking for you. Never leave anything behind. Never let your guard down. _

The words of advice Ashe had received years before bounced around in his head as he peered intently into the hallway. Silence. He crept forward stealthily, the soft leather of his boots muffling his footsteps. Nothing. He slid down the railing to the first floor and landed agilely on his feet. Soundlessly, an invisible audience cheered and Ashe bowed, giggling under his breath. Turning left at the bottom of the staircase and moving further into the house, Ashe entered a formal sitting room. It was lushly carpeted, and contained two plush sofas, a card table, a drinking cart and a monstrous fireplace. Seeing the last, Ashe moved quickly towards it, scanning the mantel. _There!_ To one side, tucked into the shadows of a striking Almyran vase, was a small, delicate porcelain figurine. Ashe picked it up carefully and saw that it was exactly as described – a smiling young woman with shimmering copper hair, twirling in dance on a bed of pink pearl and yellow diamond flowers, one hand clutching the skirt of her long blue dress and the other raised overhead exultantly. Turning the figure over, Ashe saw inscribed on bottom:

_“For Elma._

_It is spring every day I am with you._

_Jannik”_

Ashe pulled a linen cloth from his pouch and wrapped the small figure in it delicately. He was just tucking it away when someone spoke behind him,

“Excuse me, but what the _fuck_ are you doing in my house?”

Ashe spun, reaching into his jacket for a dagger at the same time – but too late. Caught completely unawares, Ashe detected nothing more than a flash of purple, the shattering of china and the scent of bergamot before being struck hard across the side of the head with a metal tray. He dropped to the floor, and as he descended into unconsciousness the words “never let your guard down” ricocheted tauntingly against the darkening corners of his mind.

* * *

A tall man moved to stand over the prone figure, and remarked petulantly,

“Well, I must say, this is _most_ inconvenient. That was the last of my tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashe fucking ziplining into complete catastrophe:  
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!
> 
> ...............................................  
Why don't thieves ever get jokes?  
Because they take everything literally.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To set up this chapter I want to qualify that overall I am combining mostly aspects of the GD/BL routes, but I'm (obviously) not aiming to be canon compliant here so knowing how things pan out in game isn't really essential and will probably become even less so as we move forward.  
Enjoy!

Ashe rose to consciousness slowly, as the cold stone digging into his back pushed through the haze. His head ached, and though the only sounds he could hear were the high-pitched whistling of an icy draft and the flickering of torches, he moved to cover his ears, overwhelmed, and his fingers brushed up against a wide, raised welt above his temple. Hissing in pain, Ashe withdrew his hands and opened his eyes. At first, even the meager torchlight struggling to push back the overwhelming darkness of Ashe’s surroundings felt blinding. As things gradually came into focus, Ashe saw that he was lying on the rough stone floor of a small room with no windows and a wall of iron bars directly in front of him.

_Ah. The dungeons. _

It all came rushing back. Grimacing, he thought of how arrogant he had been, how foolish. Elated by the success of his acrobatics, Ashe had let his guard down thinking he was safe inside the empty house.

_It should have been empty! _

When Ashe got out, he was going to march straight into that blasted tavern and pour a beer right over that lying son-of-a-bitch good-for-nothing-whiny-ass guard’s head.

**_If_**_ I ever get out of here, _Ashe thought, darkly. It was hardly his first offense. As he lifted himself off the floor, Ashe realized he was shivering violently. He went to clutch his jacket tighter, but it was gone, along with his pouch, boots and weapons. Sighing in resignation, he shuffled over to the cell’s “bed” – no more than a raised stone platform – and sat down, pulling a ragged blanket around his shoulders, tucking his legs up to rest his chin atop his knees, and curling in on himself for warmth. As he stared disconsolately at the bars in front of him, Ashe felt the prickle of tears beginning to form behind his eyes.

He thought back to the first time he had been in this dungeon, four years ago.

* * *

Ashe had been 20 years old, and afraid. He he had grown accustomed to being afraid by then, but this fear was new.

War had been raging across Fódlan for three years, and each day brought forth new terrors. The endless, simmering anxiety of living in a war zone had become so settled, so ingrained in Ashe that he no longer recognized it as fear anymore – it simply was. Then there were the smaller, more urgent worries. Would he find food to feed his siblings today? Tomorrow? The day after that? Where would they take shelter? Winter was nearly upon them, where would he find warm clothes? What if one of them were injured? These fears were far more real to Ashe than the war which pressed in on Faerghus from all sides. They were what kept him alive, rising each morning after an inevitably fitful sleep, weak from hunger but knowing that if he gave up and hid from the world it wasn’t only his own life at stake but his siblings’ as well. They were what made him afraid now, in a new way – afraid that he wouldn’t be able to return to his brother and sister and wondering what would become of them while they waited for him – would they think he was dead? Or worse, that he had abandoned them? Would they be able to fend for themselves? He had tried to protect them from the life he led, take on all the responsibility himself – had that been a mistake? Now he might never get the chance to find out and all because he had been so stupid.

So, _so_ incredibly stupid. Light-headed and desperate he’d snuck into the kitchen of a noble’s house in broad daylight and had been caught. Of course. It hadn’t been planned – he’d been on his way to the market, a much safer target where he would be protected by the bustle of a large crowd – but the smell of baking bread wafting from the property had hit him with a jolt. In an instant, he had been thrown into memories of happier days spent in the kitchen of his parents’ restaurant, of snatching freshly baked pastries from the counter, of listening to his mother hum as she shaped a pie, of drifting to sleep by a warm fire as his father set dough out to rise for the next days bread, and he’d waltz forward as though in a trance.

And now he was here. The magistrate had seemed tired as they’d listened to the private guards who’d turned him in. After a brief interrogation, they had brought him to a dark holding cell to await his fate. It was small, with no windows, and a wall of cold iron bars.

Ashe heard the swing of the door to the cells opening down the hall and tensed, waiting for the echoey clamor that always signalled approaching guards. Only silence met his ears, and he had just begun to relax when suddenly a woman appeared in front of his cell.

“You Ashe?” She asked, directly.

In the dim torchlight, Ashe could just make her out. She was about the same height as him, slight, with short navy hair, fair skin and a piecing gaze. Ashe wondered idly if she was his executioner.

He nodded, hesitantly.

“You want out of here?”

Ashe stared.

_Out? Was she offering him freedom? That couldn’t be right. Had he become delusional from hunger at this point?_

“Says here you’re quite the thief,” she continued, tapping a pile of papers in her hand. Ashe recognized the magistrate’s scratchy scrawl.

“I didn’t take anything valuable,” Ashe responded defensively, taken aback by how small his voice sounded even to his own ears. He wanted to scream and plead, tell her about his siblings, that their lives were hanging in the balance while she asked cryptic questions, that he had only done it to save them – but something held him back. The woman stared at Ashe blandly for a moment before moving closer to one of the torches affixed to the wall. She lifted the papers and began to read,

“_The perpetrator was brought in by two guards of Lord Gautier’s personal household. Full statements can be found in the detailed interrogation transcript. To summarize, the guards could not explain how the perpetrator came to be in the house. _

_Per their accounts, the property is surrounded by a high wall, with one gate at the front and another at the back, two guards posted on each at all times. Four more guards are assigned to patrol the inner perimeter and another patrols the outer perimeter. Finally, there is a guard posted at both the front door and servant’s entrance. _

_This is to say nothing of the regular household staff who number 10, with 6 being on duty at the time of the theft. When I suggested to the guards that perhaps one of the staff had allowed the young man to enter, they stated that all servants and guards had travelled with the master of the house to Fhirdiad from their northern territory, and it was therefore unlikely. Not only that, but no one had entered through either of the gates where they would surely have been observed by the guards._

_How the perpetrator came to be in the kitchen may remain a mystery, for he would not respond to my questioning even to defend his actions. His guilt however is less uncertain, as he was caught red-handed pilfering the kitchen – if he had not stopped to indulge in his prize, this magistrate speculates the thief may very well have absconded from the scene with none the wiser.”_

She finished reading and looked up at Ashe again, eyes inscrutable.

“Also says here you came in with a bow. You know how to use that thing?”

Brow furrowed, Ashe nodded again.

“We’ll see about that,” she said, turning her head at the sound of approaching footsteps. A small man came into view, holding a tray in his arms. The woman unlocked the door, keeping her eyes trained on Ashe as the man entered and placed the tray on the floor. He stepped out, and she locked it behind him.

“Eat something. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Ashe dove forward and began scarfing down the warm broth and bread that had been left behind, thinking that if they really were going to kill him, they probably wouldn’t bother feeding him first, right? And if they were – well, better to die with a full belly.

The woman soon returned, throwing a bundle into Ashe’s cell.

“Put those on.”

Ashe lifted the bundle, and found it contained a pair of boots, and a heavy jacket. Discarding his own threadbare garments, he put them on. The woman opened the door, motioning him to step out. Grabbing him by the elbow, she pulled him forwards and up out of the dungeon until they emerged outside in a courtyard.

“Here,” the woman said, handing him a bow and quiver, “shoot.” She pointed, and following her gaze Ashe noticed that several targets had been affixed around the courtyard. Still, he was more baffled than ever. Wasn’t she worried he might just shoot **her** instead?

Despite his confusion Ashe accepted the offered weapon. Taking a deep breath, he nocked an arrow, took aim, let it fly, and…missed completely. He shook his head and took another breath, attempting to steady himself. He could feel the woman’s violet eyes on him; it seemed this was a test of some sort and though he couldn’t fathom its purpose, he was certain that he wouldn’t like the consequences of failure. He pulled another arrow from the quiver, took aim, released…and missed again.

“Stop,” she said. Ashe felt his heart sinking. “Try this.”

Ashe turned around and saw she was holding out the bow and quiver that had been taken from him when he arrived. It was shabby, much shabbier than the shining silver bow he was holding currently, and the arrows were ones he had made himself, but he took them all the same, handing the other back to her.

He turned back to the target, and as he raised his bow the familiar heft of it in his hands had his confidence rising with it. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it and this time when he let it fly it struck true, dead center, the knobbly wooden shaft protruding from the bullseye, two grey feathers and one blue quivering in the afternoon light.

“Hm. Alright,” the woman said brusquely, but as Ashe turned to look at her, he imagined there was a new spark in her eye. “Well, what are you staring at – no one told you to stop.”

He continued, and while he didn’t get a bullseye every time, he never missed another target completely. When he was finished, he turned to the woman once more and saw that she was smirking.

“Good. Hand axes next.”

The afternoon continued in this manner and as she drilled him on a slew of different weapons, Ashe came to realize why the woman hadn’t been afraid he might hurt her – he wouldn’t have been able to even if he’d tried. He had done well enough with the throwing axes, but once they’d moved onto melee style combat Ashe found himself on his back more often than not. She was a monster – an absolute monster! – lightning quick and unbelievably strong, with an unpredictable style that Ashe couldn’t get around. They had just moved onto daggers and Ashe was panting raggedly, exhausted, when two figures came striding into the courtyard.

“Shamir!”

The woman – Shamir, evidently – turned to greet the newcomers as they approached and inclined her head, “Your Majesty. Dedue.”

Ashe inhaled sharply. He turned to gape at the King of Faerghus and felt his blood begin to boil.

He was tall, taller than Ashe had imagined, and despite his hunched posture he stood towering in his shining white armour and royal blue, fur-trimmed cloak, a broadsword strapped at his waist. His golden hair shimmered in the afternoon sun, half of it pulled back, up and away from his face in a haphazard knot. His expression was severe and the gaze of his one blue eye intense, almost manic, as he conversed with Shamir. Ashe realized he couldn’t hear what they were saying, the pounding of his heart drowning out their voices. The resentment and frustration towards this man which had been building inside Ashe over the last three years was bubbling to the surface with such intensity that he could practically taste it.

Suddenly, the man who had accompanied the king moved forward, stepping slightly in front of Dimitri and frowning at Ashe. Despite his huge size, until he’d moved the man’s presence had been eclipsed by the frenetic energy radiating from the king. Under his gaze, Ashe realized he was clutching the dagger in his hand so hard his knuckles were surely white, but he couldn’t loosen his grip nor school his features. Shamir and the king paused in their conversation, looking at the taller man, and Dimitri began questioningly,

“Dedue? What are—” he stopped as he caught Ashe’s gaze. “Ah,” he said, mouth twisting into a sneer in the face of Ashe’s murderous glare. “One of your recruits, Shamir?” he asked, still looking at Ashe. She shrugged. “Do you have a problem, boy?”

The tall man frowned, side-eying the king over his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Ashe bristled with indignation. Boy!? Ashe knew for a fact that the king was only a year older than he was. Was it Ashe’s fault that he was a bit on the scrawny side? No! If anything, it was this false king’s fault, for abandoning his people and allowing them to starve while Faerghus to fell into chaos! Allowing that insane she-witch to take over and bleed the common people dry to fund her stupid war and feed the soldiers of the empire!

“You – you coward!” Ashe cried, before he could stop himself, “How can you bear to call yourself a king!”

Dimitri only laughed, darkly. “A coward, am I? Well, I have certainly been called worse.”

Ashe knew he should stop, but now that the cause of his problems – the entire kingdom’s problems – was right in front of him he couldn’t seem to restrain himself. He continued, voice quavering in disbelief in the face of the king’s disdain,

“What could possible be worse than that? You left us...you let us think you were dead!”

The king’s expression shuttered, “I will not stand here and be reprimanded by a common criminal.”

At this Ashe felt his temper rising once more.

“I may be a criminal, but I only did what I had to do to protect my family. They counted on me and I didn’t turn my back on them when they needed me. Unlike you.”

“Oh yes, I am sure you will protect them very well from your prison cell,” the king retorted derisively.

Ashe flinched.

“You’re right. I made a mistake. Maybe I won’t be able to help them any more, but my brother and sister are alive today because of me. I know that what I did was against the law, but it was the right thing to do – no, the only thing to do – and I would do it again a hundred times over rather than abandon them! I would rather die a criminal, locked away for protecting the people that needed me than live as a king with the blood of a kingdom on my hands!”

As Ashe raised his arm to point accusingly at the king, Dimitri’s eye widened, and Ashe realized that the knife was still clutched tightly in his grasp.

“Oh! I didn’t – I wouldn’t –“ he was loosening his grip on the dagger in horror when suddenly his arm was twisted behind his back and a large hand clutched his wrist tightly, forcing the weapon to fall clattering to the ground. A massive arm came up to wrap around his chest, and Ashe found himself pulled back against a brick wall.

Ashe looked up and realized that the brick wall was in fact the king’s vassal. His sharp jaw was turned away - he wasn’t looking at Ashe but at Dimitri.

“That’s enough, Dedue. You may release him.” Ashe looked up sharply – Dimitri’s voice had changed. It was much softer, less crazed.

“But, Your Majesty –“

“It is fine. I don’t think he had any true intention of harming me – well, with anything other than his words that is.”

Ashe cringed at that, but Dimitri was smiling wryly at him now, the lines of his face gone soft and the sneer wiped away. The large man let him go, but stayed put, a looming reminder to keep himself in check.

“Tell me,” the king said, “what is your name?”

“Ashe, Your Majesty, Ashe Ubert – and I’m sorry! I forgot I was holding the dagger I would never – “

“Yes, I can see that. You were right though. I apologize for my cruel words, but you struck a nerve when you spoke the truth – I have been a coward. I did abandon my people at a time when they most needed me. I hope you will believe me when I say I am attempting to atone now for what I have done.”

He paused, brows furrowing in thought.

“When I was sentenced to die, I believed it was what I deserved. I had failed to avenge my family, I could see no way to save my people – I was haunted by my failures and it seemed that death was the only path that would bring me peace.”

Dimitri’s words halted again – he seemed to be struggling to continue, his gaze once again becoming clouded, his jaw clenching. Behind Ashe, Dedue shifted and Dimitri’s eye was drawn to him. While his smile did not return the furrow was smoothed from his brow, his gaze cleared, and when he continued, still looking at his vassal, his voice was steady.

“When things are at their darkest, one can only see the path directly in front of them. I suppose all I needed was someone to light the way – to show me that just beyond the shadows there are many ways to walk in this life.”

Turning back to Ashe, he smiled, and Ashe was stunned by the genuine warmth there, baffled by the drastic shift in the king’s temperament and yet suddenly far less confused by the stories he had heard of a man who inspired loyalty in all who knew him.

“Ashe, if Shamir should find you fit, I hope you will join me on the path to redemption that I now walk. I thank you for your candor, it has been…refreshing.” He laughed. “I wish you good luck.”

Nodding to Shamir, he turned to leave, Dedue following close behind him.

In astonishment, Ashe watched them retreat. He focused intently not on the king, but on Dedue – attempting to understand how he could have caused such a remarkable transformation in Dimitri with no more than a look. Ashe could find no other explanation for the change. He was imposing to be sure, tall, broad, and serious, with scars criss-crossing what little skin was visible beneath his armour. But Dimitri had not looked afraid, if anything he had looked – fond. The man was certainly handsome, perhaps they were lovers. But Dimitri was a king, and even if Dedue was a knight it hardly seemed likely!

Before he could dwell on the matter further, he was shaken out of his reverie by Shamir smacking him sharply upside the head.

“Don’t threaten the blue bloods unless you’re going to follow through. I’ve seen enough. Come with me.”

Ashe followed her inside, scandalized by her words, but he noted with elation that she wasn’t leading him back down to the dungeons, but upwards instead.

* * *

A clamouring down the hall pulled Ashe back to the present. He heard the door to the cells clang shut, and rose from the bed to stand tall in the center of the cell, arms crossed and head high as footsteps approached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nooo don’t commit regicide lol your so sexy aha
> 
> \---
> 
> Sorry this took so long, I would have posted it a week ago but my computer is the absolute worst and I lost the entire thing so i had to rewrite it...still devastated.
> 
> \---  
Why was the king only a foot tall?
> 
> Because he was a ruler.


	6. Chapter 6

“Please, my Lord,” Ashe, awaiting fate in his cell, heard someone exclaim down the passageway, “this is not the way things are done!”

“I am not particularly interested – in how things – are done,” a posh voice responded in fits and starts, “as I told you, this commoner has done no real harm – and it is my duty – to ensure – he does not suffer any further on my account. Now, dispense with this idiocy – and simply tell me where he is.”

Ashe approached the front of his cell and peered curiously down the dimly lit hall. Pressed up against the bars the angle was awkward, but he could see a tall man with long hair moving slowly down the passage, stopping at each cell to peer inside. Behind him was a shorter individual in the easily-recognizable black cloak of a magistrate – he seemed to be wringing his hands, the circle of keys he held jingly noisily as he did.

“Really, I must _insist_ that we follow proper protocol, my Lord,” the magistrate beseeched, sounding remarkably harried. “You will have a chance to make your statement when we review the charges against the boy to determine an appropriate sentence. I implore you, _please_ have patience.”

“Charges? What charges! I am certainly not going to be – pressing any charges. I refuse to waste my valuable time – waiting around – for the sake of paperwork. Do you know who I am!”

The men were getting closer to Ashe’s cell. He stepped back, not wanting to draw their attention, but as he did so he caught a glimpse of flashing purple satin…

With a sigh, the magistrate responded, “Yes, my Lor-“

“I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester!” the taller man cried, as though imparting a holy revelation from the Goddess herself, as he stepped out in front of Ashe’s cell with a flourish, “Heir of House Gloucester, County of Gloucester, and it is my sworn duty as a noble to protect the common people from injustice and mistreatment whether it be at the hands of ruffians, rogues or an inflated, bureaucratic judiciar – oh, there you are!”

The nobleman had spotted Ashe as he was reaching the crescendo of his impassioned declaration. He turned back to the magistrate, hands on hips.

“Now, my good sir, if you would be so kind, release this man at once!”

“My lord, _please_! I have told you I cannot release him without a formal hearing of the charges.”

“And I have told _you_ that no charges will be pressed. If you would like, I can bring this matter directly to Duke von Riegan…” Lorenz paused, raising a finger to his chin in showy contemplation, “though I am sure he would be loathe to interfere in such a trivial matter as this I am certain he and the King could settle the matter if it ensures continued peace between our two great nations…”

The magistrate paled. “Surely, Your Lordship would not…what I mean to say is, there is no need to –“

Lorenz clapped the man solidly on the back. “Quite right, esteemed magistrate, no need whatsoever! Why bother them with such a small matter. Now, if you don’t mind.”

With that, the young noble snatched the keys from the fumbling magistrate with graceful fingers and began fitting them into the lock on Ashe’s cell door one by one.

“Ah! There we are,” a key finally turned with a satisfying click, and the cell door swung open. With a fluid gesture, Lorenz extended an arm to beckon Ashe forward.

“I hope you will excuse what has surely been a most uncomfortable evening,” Lorenz said, peering around the cell distastefully. “My coach is available, and I would be most grateful if you would allow me to escort you safely home.”

Ashe wondered if he might still be unconscious.

“Uh.”

He took a moment to survey his apparent savior. He was tall and quite striking. He was clad in purple nearly head to toe, apart from a bright red rose pinned to his lapel. His clothing was impeccably neat and well-tailored, his hair straight and shining even in the dim light. While his overt “noble-ness” was enough to make Ashe distrust him almost immediately, he paused as the man caught his eye. He saw a spark of mischief there, to be sure, but no malice. Ashe doubted he would fare better under the magistrate anyway.

“Uh - certainly,” Ashe said with a stiff bow, “thank you, my Lord.”

“Excellent. Let us go then.”

Ashe exited the cell and followed Lorenz as he began moving swiftly down the hall, the magistrate trailing behind them with shoulders slumped in defeat. They passed through the door at the end of the passage and entered an antechamber. The room contained a couple of benches and a small table with empty mugs and cards scattered across it, a desk pressed up against one wall and above it several crude shelves packed with an odd assortment of items; Ashe paused, spotting his bow and other belongings among them.

“Er – my Lord?” Ashe began, unsure if he should press his luck any further. Lorenz turned to him and raised a single brow. “It’s just – my things…”

“Ah, of course. My dear magistrate, if you would.”

The magistrate, muttering, moved to consult some papers on the desk and as he did so an idea seemed to strike him, wiping away his forlorn countenance. He picked up the papers and addressed Lorenz hopefully.

“My Lord Gloucester, I wonder if you might sign these records to indicate you have taken the er…accused, into your personal custody?”

“Certainly. I would be glad to assume responsibility for this misguided soul.”

“Excellent!” The magistrate shuffled towards Lorenz, extending the papers and a quill towards him. “If you would just sign here…”

Lorenz accepted the papers and reviewed them carefully, brows furrowing slightly in concentration. Suddenly, the document burst into flame and within seconds there was nothing but a small pile of ash in front of purple suede boots to indicate it had ever existed.

“Oh, how dreadfully clumsy of me!” Lorenz exclaimed, without a hint of remorse, “That Fire spell sometimes has a mind of its own.”

The magistrate gaped in open-mouthed shock, looking between the count and the pile of ash on the floor, helplessly.

“Well, we really must be going. Mr. Ubert. Perhaps you should fetch your own things.”

Ashe stepped around the magistrate to snatch his belongings before hurrying after Lorenz, who had already started up the stairs leading off the chamber and up out of the dungeons. As he caught up with him, Ashe felt obliged to say something.

“Um. I wanted to say thank you. Again. Though I still don’t really understand why you – oof!” Lorenz had stopped suddenly as they emerged from the staircase into a wide hallway, and Ashe had stumbled into him. As his face collided unceremoniously with Lorenz’s violet cloak, he was struck by the scent of bergamot.

“Y-You!” He realized, backing away and instinctually raising a hand to the welt at his temple.

“Ah, yes. I am terribly sorry about that, but I was rather alarmed to suddenly find you in my dining room. Alarmed enough to dent my favourite tea tray, in fact,” Lorenz said, wistfully. 

“I don’t understand. Why did you turn me in only to have me released again?”

“Well, I had assumed you were no more than a common criminal, naturally.”

With this mysterious statement, Lorenz turned on his heel and continued down the hall, clearly expecting Ashe to follow – which he did after a moment, more curious than ever. Before long, they were stepping out through the main entryway of the castle and into the open air. Ashe paused, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light; the dungeon provided no means of tracking the time, and Ashe was surprised to find it was only mid-morning. Lorenz’s long legs had carried him across the courtyard, and he stood next to a fine lacquered coach, beckoning Ashe over as he spoke to a squat, chubby fellow, presumably the driver. As Ashe approached, Lorenz said,

“Now Mr. Ubert, please inform Reginald here where we are off to this morning. He knows Fhirdiad inside and out and will surely have you home in no time.”

Reginald smiled widely at the praise, and the moustachioed driver tipped his cap at Ashe.

“I don’t know about that, but we’ll certainly get you to where you’re going eventually, sir.”

Ashe felt himself colouring – no one had ever called him sir before!

“Please – just Ashe is fine,” he insisted.

He then ducked his head in embarrassment and muttered the name of the open market closest to the inn. He still couldn’t understand what this nobleman was doing with him and had no intention of revealing where he lived.

Reginald opened the coach door and Ashe climbed in after Lorenz. The seats inside were lushly upholstered, and a few thick furs were neatly folded in one corner. The window coverings had been pulled back, and the morning sun streamed into the cabin.

“Now then,” Lorenz started, once they were on their way. He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small, linen wrapped bundle. Unfolding it, he revealed a tiny figurine – a copper haired dancer on a bed of bejeweled flowers – the same one Ashe taken from the Gloucester mantel the night before. Ashe clenched his fists in lap apprehensively, directing his gaze at the floor of the coach.

“I said I _thought_ you were a common criminal. I am hoping you will prove me wrong.” Lorenz paused. “Tell me, Ashe, why did you try to take this figure?”

Ashe looked up at Lorenz. His smooth brow was now slightly furrowed, as he gazed questioningly at Ashe. He continued, “While it does not compare with the collection at our home estate, the house here in Fhirdiad has many treasures – most of which are more valuable than this one. Why, the Almyran vase that was next to it is easily worth thrice as much. So why this?”

Ashe tore his eyes away from Lorenz’s piercing gaze and stared determinately out the window.

“I…I thought it was pretty,” he muttered.

Lorenz laughed, not unkindly.

“You know, you are a rather appalling liar for a thief. You would make a terrible politician.” Still smiling, he went on, “Fine. I will tell you a bit about this pretty little statue, then.”

Ashe heard Lorenz settle further into the cushions on his side of the coach and when he glanced over, he could no longer make out Lorenz’s eyes, now hidden in shadow.

“My father fancies himself something of a collector. When I was young, I used to ask endless questions about the trinkets he would bring home from his travels – elaborate tapestries, hand-woven carpets, intricate carvings, delicate pottery and paintings of all sorts.

I would ask about the artists who had made these beautiful things and whether they would make us more, where were the people in the paintings now, and had the previous owners of our new treasures driven a hard bargain? His answers were always short, and soon I learned to stop asking.”

Ashe could see that Lorenz’s smile had wilted, and there was a tightness around his mouth matched by the strain in his voice as he finished,

“You see, I had noticed that my father never brought anything home from his diplomatic missions. Treasures like this one,” he raised the statue to the light streaming through the windows, “only appeared after journey’s where my father had been accompanied by our battalions. I realized he had not bought these wondrous things with gold, but with steel.”

A heavy silence settled over them as Lorenz finished. As Ashe floundered for something to say, Lorenz leaned forward, bringing his face into the light, and Ashe could see his eyes were searching.

“Ashe, I understand you are hesitant to trust me, and after what I have just said you are perhaps even more so. I was always taught that it was the duty of a nobleman to protect the common people, to serve them, and while maturity has shown me that many…most of my elders do not truly prescribe to this belief, I feel that the nobility serves no purpose if it fails to uphold this responsibility.”

He looked at the statue, glittering in the sunlight.

“I don not know why you would have taken this, a mere trinket, unless…well, it was certainly a great deal more than that to someone once.”

Nodding to himself, he reached out to grasp Ashe’s hand, and placed the small figure in it.

“Take it,” he said. “Perhaps I am being foolish, but something tells me it is better off in your hands than in mine.”

As Ashe gaped, Lorenz leaned back once more. The tension which had overtaken him as he spoke of his father seemed to drain from him, and a small smile danced around his lips once more.

“Now. Why don’t you tell me how in the blazes you managed to get into my house? I think some tips on improving security is a fair exchange for your jail break.”

* * *

“From over the wall!?” Lorenz exclaimed, shaking with mirth several minutes later. “Well, I knew that decrepit wreck was an eyesore but that is truly adding insult to injury.”

Ashe grinned bashfully – he felt rather awkward explaining to Lorenz how he had broken into his home but was gratified by his astonishment all the same. Just as he was about to continue, the coach came to a halt, and a moment later the door swung open. Reginald inclined his head to Lorenz,

“We’ve arrived at the market, my lord.”

“Ah, very well Reginald. Ashe, I suppose you may keep the rest of your secrets for another day. You _will_ try to stay out of trouble, will you not? While I have enjoyed our chat, I fear the king may become rather irritated if I make a habit of absconding with his prisoners.”

“I’m still not quite sure why you’ve done this for me, but you have my sincere thanks Lord Gloucester. I will er…do my best to stay out of trouble. I would hate to be the cause of any problems between the king and Duke von Riegan,” Ashe, responded, only half joking.

“Oh, Claude? Now there is a trouble maker if there ever was one,” Lorenz laughed.

Gathering his things, Ashe descended from the carriage. Reginald closed the door behind him, tipped his cap to Ashe in farewell, and climbed up into the driver’s seat once more. Ashe looked up at Lorenz through the open window.

“Farewell, Mr. Ubert – it has been a pleasure,”

With that, Reginald urged the horses into action and Ashe watched the coach until it turned a corner, heading back in the direction of the palace.

Sighing in relief – or perhaps disbelief, Ashe turned towards home. He stepped up to the inn and walked up to the front door, to tired to bother going around to the back entrance as he usually would. He swung the door open, thinking of nothing more than the hearty lunch and warm bath that were now within reach. As his foot pass over the threshold his was suddenly hoisted into the air, and a high-pitched voice cried,

“And **_where_** exactly have you been all night!? We were worried sick!”

* * *

As Ashe braced himself for yet another terrifying encounter, he failed to notice a rather strange sight out on the street behind him. A patch of purple had appeared from over the garden wall of the shop across the way. As the door closed the patch spoke,

“Alright, Reggie. You can let me down now – gently, mind you! You know it is impossible to get dirt out of satin.”

“Yes, my Lord,” came the patient reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lorenz wrote himself into this. I honestly had nothing to do with it.
> 
> \---  
Why did no one in prison want to mess with the mitochondria?  
It was the powerhouse of the cells.


End file.
